


let's do the impawssible

by nanasekei



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 Fills [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Animal Transformation, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dogs, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Iron Pom, M/M, Steve & dogs, the silliest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: Steve had always been good with dogs.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 Fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485866
Comments: 31
Kudos: 332
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019





	let's do the impawssible

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the "I'm a god of [a minor thing]" prompt from Happy Steve Bingo, and then I just wasn't able to stop.
> 
> Thanks to Ferret for the beta! And also a special thanks to bardingbeedle, cinderellasfella and everyone else who sends me asks/messages about SteveTony and puppies, because you all helped inspire this insanity.

When the one-eyed dog limped across the street to him, Steve’s only thought was: _I can’t_.

Because he really, really couldn’t. It hadn’t even been ten months since he had taken Anakin in—Lola had taken her time getting used to him, and Steve himself had literally _just_ reached a point where he was able to take care of two dogs and still balance his life and work like a regular person. He could not, in any imaginable circumstances, take in another stray.

But the dog was not chipped, and its single eye looked at Steve with so much love and devotion when the lady from the shelter informed him of it, that the outcome was really unavoidable.

“He clearly likes you,” the woman commented when Steve picked him up. “He was so scared when I was checking for his chip, the poor thing, but with you holding him, he looks ready to fall asleep.”

Steve gave her a forceful smile, fighting back a sigh.

At least this one was tiny.

* * *

Contrary to what he had imagined, Bucky and Sam didn’t give Steve much hell for bringing Monet home. Instead, they spent most of the time complaining about his name.

“Seriously?” Sam had asked, sitting on Steve’s couch and petting Anakin’s belly with his feet. Despite his mocking tone, he had Monet on his lap, and was now scratching a spot behind his left ear. “What about this little dude gives you ‘dead French guy obsessed with landscapes’ vibes?”

“He likes the lilies,” Steve said, gesturing to the (obviously) fake copy of the painting he had hanging on one wall. By “likes,” he was referring to the fact that Monet had stared at it rather thoughtfully for _hours,_ the night Steve brought him home, after he managed to calm down and settled in his dog bed, but Sam didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t believe I actually thought you meant it when you said Anakin would be the last one.”

“Called it,” Bucky’s voice came from the kitchen.

Steve rolled his eyes. He _could_ remind Sam and Bucky that neither of them lived there, technically, but since they weren’t even a hallway away and both had keys, he figured it wouldn’t really be fair. “He’s the last one,” he said instead. “Definitely.”

Lola, who had been chewing on a once-squeaky toy, tilted her head at him, not buying it. Only a few months away from her eighth birthday, she seemed to be growing rather judgmental with age.

“I _promise_ ,” Steve said, and she went back to chewing, not seeming fully convinced.

* * *

Life with three dogs in one apartment wasn’t easy, but Steve made do. Having Sam and Bucky nearby definitely helped, and, though, in the past, he had been forced to spend a few weeks living off ramen to buy food for all his children (as Bucky put it), things became pretty stable once a few of his political cartoons went viral and he was hired to draw for an extremely popular webcomic. The payment wasn’t anything exorbitant, but it paid his bills and allowed him to work from home and spend time with his dogs, so Steve wasn’t complaining.

On the weekends, after their first walk of the day, Steve would leave the three of them at Sam and Bucky’s apartment and head down to the shelter where he'd had Monet checked for a chip and now volunteered.

On that particular day, Steve was finishing organizing a few piles of adoption papers when T’Challa, another regular volunteer, stepped inside the reception area.

“There you are,” T'Challa said, with a smile. He nodded to the crate corridor. “We got a new arrival today that could use some of your magic.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but followed him. He and T’Challa often took turns helping each other with the animals – T’Challa had a clear soft spot for cats and was able to spend hours talking and playing with them until they were happy. And Steve…

“Here.” T’Challa pointed to a crate in the far end of the hallway. He didn’t have to, though – the dog’s loud whining spoke for itself, rising above any of the other regular sounds coming from the rows of cages.

Steve walked to him. As soon as his eyes landed on the crate, his heart broke; the dog was probably a medium-sized stray, but he seemed much smaller because of how curled up in the far corner of the crate he was. His bright blue eyes seemed sad and scared, his whines growing louder by the minute.

“He got dropped off this morning,” T’Challa said, his always perfectly poised voice betraying a clear hint of disapproval. Then, after a moment, he added, a little softer, “I think he thinks his owner is coming back.”

Steve’s chest tightened, but he stared ahead, trying to establish eye contact.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered, coming closer to the crate.

The dog raised his head slowly, seeming hesitant. Then, a moment afterwards, his demeanor instantly changed. His tail raised and waved, happily, and he came closer, allowing Steve to pet his nose.

Steve smiled, and the dog gave a few soft licks to his hand. His tongue hung from his mouth when he finished, and his eyes crinkled as Steve pet his head and he leaned further into his touch.

“Unbelievable,” T’Challa said, watching with an awed smile. “Every time.”

Steve shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s no different from you with cats.” He lowered his hand to scratch the dog’s chin. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa sounded smug. “What are you going to name him?”

Steve sighed.

* * *

Frodo fit in nicely with his other siblings. Lola was suspicious at first, but she quickly warmed up to him, and Steve even caught the two of them napping together a couple days after his arrival.

Sam and Bucky’s only comment was “Frodo is a better name than Monet,” so, all things considered, it went pretty smoothly.

* * *

A few months after Steve adopted Frodo, he started to notice something strange.

There was a man following him.

It took a while for Steve to notice, because, when walking four dogs, it’s hard to pay much attention to the people around you. He only realized when he went out by himself to get milk from the grocery store and saw, on his way back, a man walking behind him – not too close, but not too far, either, and discretely but clearly following Steve home.

Steve’s heart raced. He had vivid memories of being mugged and getting into fights with bullies when he was younger and smaller. Nowadays, his size tended to keep ill-intentioned people away, but now… was that what was happening?

He looked back, assessing the man from afar. He wasn’t big, but could he be armed?

Steve placed his hands in his pockets, stopping at a traffic light, knowing the man was likely to catch up to him. If it was a robbery, Steve at least could make sure the guy didn’t see where he lived. Besides, the street was empty, which meant no innocent passerby would be at risk in case of a confrontation.

Not that Steve planned to confront the man at all, though. The only thing of value he had on him was his phone, and, though having to replace it would be a significant blow in his bank account, it was certainly not a reason to pick up a fight with someone who could be dangerous. He would much rather lose the phone and deal with the stranger right then and there, instead of risking being followed home.

The man stopped right next to him. As the pedestrian light went green, neither of them moved, Steve feeling the weight of his gaze as he stared ahead.

“Need something?” he asked, turning, and, to his surprise, the man flinched and blushed.

“Uh,” he stammered, wide, brown eyes blinking rapidly. A pair of sunglasses quickly went from hanging at his collar to his face. “No, nothing. Uh. Bless you,” he said, and turned away and walked—no, nearly ran – in the opposite direction, apparently forgetting he was meant to be heading the same way Steve was.

Steve frowned, puzzled but relieved, and waited until the stranger’s silhouette disappeared in the distance before going home.

Sam’s opinion, of course, was that Steve had an admirer, but Sam seemed to think Steve had admirers everywhere, always valiantly attempting to encourage Steve’s non-existent love life. Bucky, much more practical, suggested the man could have mistaken him for someone else.

Steve scratched Lola’s belly and wondered which one of them could be right, then promptly forgot all about the topic.

* * *

Two days later, something even stranger happened.

The five of them – Steve, Anakin, Lola, Monet and Frodo – were at the dog park, which was unusually empty. Steve let them loose, knowing they’d have more fun being able to roam around. The area was fenced and safe, and Steve sat on a bench watching them. Lola had decided to lie down and bask on the sun, and Monet and Frodo were apparently racing each other, both of their tongues happily hanging from their mouths. Anakin was attempting to catch his own tail.

Steve smiled and looked down a bit to check his phone, and, when he raised his head, he found two Pomeranians in front of the bench, staring at him.

Steve raised his eyebrows. Neither of the dogs seemed to mind, though, both looking at him with huge, expectant brown eyes, as if Steve had a hidden treat only they knew about.

Steve would be lying if he said his first reaction wasn’t to coo, because, well, they were adorable, both small balls of golden fur. “Hey, there,” he said in a soft voice, and both poms leaned forward, eyes shining. “Where did you both come from?”

It was only after he worded the question that Steve remembered the obvious: he was the only person in the park.

“Oh, my God.” He looked around, frantic, but no, no one else was nearby. “Are you guys lost?”

A high-pitched yap called his attention: The smaller dog was standing on its two back legs, tiny paws gesturing at Steve with enthusiasm.

Steve couldn’t help but smile, but his mind was already racing. Both dogs seemed well-groomed, clean and healthy. There was no way they weren’t chipped, and, from the lack of dirt in their furs, Steve guessed they had gotten lost recently, most likely getting loose during a walk. “Your family must be worried sick about you.”

He leaned forward, trying to calculate the logistics of scooping both of them on his arms while also holding onto his dogs’ leashes. Steve considered using a treat to bribe them, but he had none with him, and, besides, they didn’t seem to need the extra encouragement – the smaller one, at least, was all but jumping onto Steve’s lap already.

So Steve turned towards the other one – that one had especially fluffy fur, and was staring at him with something that seemed more like curiosity than anything else. Steve smiled at him, and, for a strange moment, something was oddly familiar about the dog’s gaze.

The three of them startled at a sudden, strong whine, and Steve, who could recognize Lola’s cry anywhere in the world, immediately jumped to his feet, running towards her without even stopping to assess what had happened.

Fortunately, the crying was unwarranted. From what Steve could tell, Lola had probably slipped while running through the leaves on the ground, as she had already done multiple times before. She was now huffing happily, her paws spread as she lay on her belly, and Steve had the keen feeling she was basking in being the target of his attention. For such a cute, peaceful, old dog, Lola sure could be manipulative when she wanted to.

“You’re incorrigible.” Steve sighed as Lola blinked her big dark eyes at him.

Then, he felt a light pressure on his ankle – the tinier Pomeranian had decided to take a direct approach on his apparent mission to get to Steve’s lap.

Steve picked him up, unable to not grin as the dog’s tongue hung out of his mouth and he nested with ease into Steve’s arms.

Lola let out a low grunt.

“Don’t be mean,” Steve chastised. He was having a hard time not cooing over the small dog. He focused on holding him delicately, very careful not to accidentally squeeze him too hard or anything, because God, he was tiny.

The puppy yapped, pleased, and gave quick licks on Steve’s arm with his tiny, pink tongue.

Steve held him close, watching as he nestled to his chest, his dark eyes blinking slowly as his body relaxed. He looked so sweet and comfy that, though he knew that wouldn’t usually be advisable, Steve leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the puppy’s small forehead.

“Okay, that’s enough,” a voice said, and Steve looked up to find the man who had been following him a couple of nights ago. It took Steve a moment to recognize him, though, because the man was sharply dressed in a fancy suit unfit for a dog park, unlike the casual clothing Steve had seen him in before. Only when he noticed the sunglasses hanging from his collar, did Steve realize it was the same person.

“You…” Steve started, defensive, when his attention was diverted to something much more important. “Oh, no.” He turned around, frantic. “Where’s the other one?”

“What?” The man said. “Oh, do you mean, the other dog?” His face twisted in a weird expression. “I… don’t know.”

“Damnit,” Steve said, still looking around. He spotted the doorway to the park – the gate was closed, but the bars were wide enough for a small dog to squeeze in between. “He can’t have gone too far. I’d have seen it if he had ran away—”

“Yeah, yeah—he’ll show up, okay?” The man bristled, stepping forward and raising one hand in Steve’s direction. “Now, while we’re at it, can you give me this one back?”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Is he yours?” he asked, uncertain. In his arms, the dog only nestled closer, not showing any sign of recognition.

The man squinted his eyes at him in response. “Oh, you little…” He cut himself short, drawing in a breath, and looked at Steve, a bright smile plastering his face. “Yup, he is. We’re very sorry to bother you, sir, so now, if you could just…”

“What about the other one?” Steve insisted. “Is he also yours?”

“Uh… yeah,” the man said, after a moment of silence. “Yeah, yeah, he totally is.” He made a flippant gesture. “He’s probably just roaming around, it’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine,” Steve countered. “If he went through the gate, he could be anywhere. The streets are full of cars, he could get hurt!”

The man stared at Steve as if he was trying to make sense of his words. “O…kay. Can you give me the other one then?” He reached forward to grab the small dog from Steve’s hand, but Steve took a step back, holding it firmly.

“Is he chipped?”

“He’s—oh, come on, it’s not…”

Steve didn’t bulge. “Do you have anything that can prove he’s yours?” The man just stared at him, as if Steve’s question was absurd. “A picture? Anything?”

“I do, in fact,” the man replied, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a cellphone which was clearly the lastest model. “Here.” He ran his thumb over the screen and typed something, turning the phone to Steve.

To Steve’s surprise, it wasn’t a camera roll. Instead, it was a browser with a gossip website open, showing a very clear picture of the man in a different fancy suit, holding the little Pomeranian under his arm as he was exiting a building. The headline screamed _these pictures of Tony Stark with his dog will make your ovaries explode_.

That rang a bell in Steve’s head. Tony _Stark_. From Stark Industries? Steve had a vague memory of watching maybe two minutes of an interview with the man in some edition of the Oscars before switching channels. There had also been a huge scandal with the company earlier that year, when they decided to stop manufacturing weapons, but Steve didn’t remember the details.

He looked up to check the man’s face, as if it had somehow changed in the time they were there, and, yes – the resemblance was uncanny, but Steve had a hard time understanding what the hell a multi billionaire like Tony Stark would be doing in a dog park in Steve’s neighborhood (or, oh yeah, _following_ him in a nearby street two nights earlier).

Most importantly, though, Steve didn’t like how he was holding the dog in the picture. Not only was he treating his pet like a briefcase, his face seemed almost annoyed, as if it was a favor to hold him.

Nevertheless, the picture was undeniable proof. Steve clenched his jaw and reluctantly passed the puppy over to Stark.

“Take better care of him next time,” Steve said, severe. He considered asking what Stark was even doing there in the first place, but at the end of the day, it was none of his business. Maybe Stark was visiting a friend who lived around there, and the supposed following had been just a coincidence. Besides, Steve had more important things to worry about. “What about the other one? I didn’t see pictures of you with him.”

“Uh, right,” Stark said. He didn’t coo over the dog at all when Steve handed him over, which bothered Steve more than it should. “You see, he’s notoriously camera shy, that one.”

Steve frowned, still not fully convinced. “Look, there’s no time to lose. The more we stand here talking, the further away he gets, and something bad might happen.”

Stark just stared at him until he finally seemed to get it. “Wait, you don’t need to—Come on, you don’t need to _look_ for him.”

Steve’s nostrils widened as he took a breath sharpened by fury. “ _Of course,_ we need to.” He looked away, finding the gate.

“Come _on_ ,” Stark said, seeming disbelieving. “He’s not yours. It’s just… just a dog.”

“ _Just a dog_? _Just_ a dog? Did you really just say that?” Steve’s voice was low and rigid with fury. “He’s a living being. One that you’re supposed to take care of, but—” Steve glanced at the small Pomeranian, still being held, and his heart ached. He would have taken him right from his uncaring owner’s hands if that wasn’t technically stealing. “It doesn’t matter, because that was clearly not your dog.” He looked up to find Stark’s big, brown eyes blinking at him as if Steve was saying something deeply intriguing. “I don’t have time to deal with this right now.”

So he left, almost running to the gate. He wasn’t sure if he would find the missing dog, but damn if he wasn’t going to try.

* * *

After hours walking around his neighborhood, Steve was feeling a little defeated. He also didn’t find anyone looking for the puppy, online or otherwise, which proved to him that, unfortunately, the dog probably _did_ belong to Stark, and the man just didn’t care enough to search for him. That made Steve furious, but he decided to channel that anger into energy to try and find the dog, who didn’t choose to have such an uncaring owner.

He made a post on Facebook, and, talking to a few people from the shelter, managed to gather together a small search party. However, even after two days, they didn’t find a single sign of the missing Pomeranian.

On the third day, Steve went on his walk alone. He knew he was maybe overreacting – tons of dogs went missing every day, and worrying about them all was sure to drive anyone insane – but he couldn’t help it. He had always loved dogs, and he had felt a special connection to the fluffy Pomeranian, with his bright, curious, brown eyes. It broke his heart to imagine how scared and confused he must be, desperately trying to come back to an owner who couldn’t care less about him.

The loud roar of thunder made Steve’s stomach sink. He was now two streets away from the park, and he could easily get home without getting caught in the rain, but what about the dog? Could he have found shelter somewhere? Or would he be walking alone and terrified as the water drenched his fur?

Steve took a deep breath, calming himself down. He’d try just one more time around the block east from the park, this time searching every nook and cranny to see if the dog hadn’t just hidden somewhere, afraid of the noise of the thunder.

When he was halfway through it, having just asked a man inside a café if he had seen a Pomeranian walking by, the rain started. Steve sighed, resigned to getting wet, and pulled his hoodie over his head.

The water started light, with just a few thin drops, but it didn’t take long for it to grow stronger. As the rain drops grew ticker, it soon became impossible to look for anything, as it was getting harder to even see what was in front of him.

Steve’s chest tightened as he took the way to get back home. He could only pray the dog was alright at this point, and, though he knew there wasn’t anything more he could do, he still felt sad and anxious, desperately wishing he could still help in some way.

He was so distraught, he took a wrong turn when he found his street, going in the opposite direction of his apartment. He realized the mistake quickly, though, turning on his feet in a swift movement that quickly turned clumsy as he bumped into someone who was walking right behind him.

“Oh, God, sorry,” Steve said, blinking raindrops away to try and get a look at the person. Then, a high-pitched yap startled him, and he knew who it was even before his eyes managed to focus on the man’s face. “You! You—were you following me?”

Stark opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Steve saw the tiny Pomeranian strapped to his chest, in a papoose.

“What the hell?” Steve asked. An even louder thunder was his response, and the dog squirmed on Stark’s chest. “Oh, God, he’s going to get _drenched_ , are you crazy? Here,” he grabbed Stark’s arm, pulling him to the nearest safe spot he could find – his building.

Steve opened the gate rapidly, choosing not to pause to think about the fact that he could be potentially letting a stalker into his home. It wasn’t like Stark could physically overpower him, and, besides, at the moment, Steve was really just eager to get both of them and the innocent dog out of the rain.

When they finally got to the entrance hall, right before the stairs, Steve lowered his hood, panting. Stark, next to him, was similarly winded, as well as completely soaked. “Jesus,” he said, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees. “What _was_ that?”

“You don’t carry dogs into the rain. His fur will get wet and he might catch a cold,” Steve said. The Pomeranian, however, was strangely dry, his fur sticking out from the papoose in a cute way.

Steve raised his hand to pet him, momentarily entranced. The dog licked his hand.

“Oh, my god,” Stark said, sounding tired. “Okay, I _get it_.”

Steve frowned, but he didn’t want to pursue that line of interrogation. From what he had gathered so far, Stark was a very strange man, and Steve needed some more useful information from him at the moment. “What _were_ you trying to do? Were you actually following me?”

Stark stared at him in silence for a beat, then sighed. “Listen, it’s not what it looks like. Well… Okay, in fact, it is a _little_ what it looks like, but I promise I don’t have a shrine of you in my closet, okay?” Steve widened his eyes at him, but he continued, speaking rapidly: “I—fine, I was following you. But not in like, a creepy way or anything.”

“How is this _not_ creepy?” Steve’s voice raised a little at the last word. “Don’t—don’t you live in Manhattan? Why are you just hanging out around my building for days on end?”

“I rented a place nearby.” Steve’s mouth fell open in horror, and he took a step back. “No, wait, listen—”

“You—why? What the hell do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Stark said, sounding a little desperate. “You just… I didn’t think it was true. I just needed to be around you for a while to be certain. But boy, have you proved me wrong.”

Composing himself, Steve squared his shoulders and took a step forward, facing Stark head on. “I think you should leave.”

“I was going to,” Stark’s voice sounded a little strident, and he spoke so fast it was hard to make out what he was really saying. “I really was, because again, I didn’t think it was true—didn’t _want_ it to be true, really, but then _he_ ,” he gestured awkwardly at the Pomeranian strapped to his chest, “made us run into you at the park, and now you’re _looking_ everywhere for the damn dog, and I, I just can’t deny it anymore.”

Steve shook his head in disapproval. “’The _damn dog_ ’? Really? What is even the point of having a pet if you’re going to—”

“I don’t have a pet!” Stark all but yelled. His hand reached forward and grabbed Steve’s wrist, as if preemptively stopping him from running away. “It’s me, okay?”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“I’m the damn dog you’re looking for.” Stark gestured with his free hand aimlessly. “It’s me. There’s no small, helpless ball of fur lost on your block waiting to be rescued by you and your… your… shoulders.” His hand awkwardly waved towards Steve’s chest. “You don’t have to keep looking for it in the fucking rain. I’m right here, and I’m _fine_.”

Steve blinked, only now processing what Stark was trying to say.

“This isn’t funny,” he said, snapping his arm away from Stark’s hold. “Look, I won’t pretend to know what your deal is, but I’ve had enough. Maybe the tabloids think it’s funny for you to act crazy to get out of trouble, but I—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Stark sighed. “Listen, I’d transform right now if I could just do it on command, but it doesn’t work like that. I just need you to…”

“Leave me alone,” Steve said coldly. From the little he knew about Stark’s public persona, he guessed this was probably a schtick of his. Maybe his fans liked it, but Steve didn’t have to entertain him any longer.

“Wait!” Stark yelled. He picked up the Pomeranian from his chest, holding it in one hand. “Just _look_.”

In Steve’s head, the movement happened in slow motion, and he watched in absolutely horrified terror as Stark _threw his dog_ in the air, like a baseball, heading straight to the wall behind them. A helpless “No!” escaped from his lips, but, even as he launched himself forward in a faint attempt to save the dog from what would _at least_ be a very serious head trauma, the Pomeranian stopped abruptly midair.

His tail wagged happily, and he turned, frozen—no, _floating_ at about the height of Steve’s head.

“Wh—what the…” Steve started. The dog yapped as if in response, and he did a pirouette. “How is he—How is he doing this?”

“Will you listen to me now?”

“He’s _floating_. He—He floats?” Steve took a step closer, and the Pomeranian leaned in and touched his cheek with his tiny, cold nose. “How?”

“He’s not a regular dog,” Stark said. “Well – to be honest, he’s not a dog at all. He’s more like… a poltergeist.” He sighed. “My own personal spiritual burden.”

“What?” Steve said, unable to move as the dog – _was_ it a dog? – licked his cheek softly. “ _What_?”

“This isn’t a hallway conversation,” Stark said, stepping forward and taking the Pomeranian on his arms. The dog – Steve couldn’t see it as anything but – wriggled a little in protest. “Oh, come on, you’ll have time to cozy up to him later.” Stark turned to Steve, his expression a little hesitant. “Can we continue this in your apartment? Because let me tell you, some alcohol would not be a bad idea.”

* * *

Stark’s friendly floating… _thing_ didn’t fly inside the apartment, which Steve appreciated, because the dogs were already freaking out enough without finding one of their own who could defy gravity. They all got used to each other pretty quickly, though, with only Lola choosing to stay away while giving Steve a look of deep, wounded betrayal.

“He isn’t mine,” Steve told her, but she just rolled onto the carpet and started chewing a squeaky toy.

Stark walked inside as if he owned the place, throwing himself at Steve’s couch with an exhausted sigh. “Much better,” he said, propping his legs up on Steve’s coffee table.

Steve was watching his every movement attentively. “Are you planning to explain anything?”

“Have a seat,” Stark said, as if it was his house. Steve complied, though, because he just wanted to understand something, _anything_ , already. “Okay. How well do you follow the news?”

Steve frowned. “I read the paper every morning.”

“Like, the actual, physical newspaper?” Stark raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s—well, that’s kind of adorable, honestly, but not the point. What I mean is, how well have you followed news about _me_ lately?” Steve opened his mouth to reply sharply, but Stark raised a finger at him. “I get that you’re not a fan, but a few things happened early this year that even you must have heard of.”

Steve hesitated before answering: “You stopped making weapons.”

Stark nodded. “Do you know why?”

Steve frowned as he tried to remember. He had not followed the story closely, but he picked up a few pieces of it when it was everything any media outlet seemed to be able to talk about. “You were… attacked, weren’t you?”

“Yup.” Stark exaggerated the _p_ deliberately. “A group tried to kidnap me in Afghanistan. Keyword being: _Tried_. A friend of mine managed to save my ass at the last minute, when they attacked the van we were in.”

“Colonel Rhodes,” Steve said, suddenly remembering. “His face was everywhere.”

Stark smiled. “And for good reason. He saved my life, at least that one time.” He clasped his hands as he stared at Steve. “It worked as a wake-up call. I realized I had to stop the trail of blood my dad had passed on to me, in the form of my company. So I changed directions, turning Stark Industries into a giant of the clean energy business.” He took a deep breath. “That’s as far as the general public knows. But I didn’t stop there.”

Steve looked at him, intrigued. The Pomeranian ran towards his ankles and nuzzled at Stark’s calf.

“Oh, don’t be fake,” Stark chastised, but he was smiling, seeming a little pained. “Anyway. Once I started taking control of things, I realized I wasn’t fully informed of what was really going on under the tables of the company. You see, I was technically the one who ran it on paper, but in reality, I mostly contributed with the projects. Whatever else was happening didn’t matter, because… Well, frankly, because most of the time I was too drunk to care.” He looked at Steve directly, and though his speech never changed, his eyes suggested every word was taking great effort. “So I found out the company was double-dealing – actually, scratch that—the guy I _trusted_ to take care of the company was double-dealing, and he was the one who set everything up to get me kidnaped in the first place. He… he was my dad’s best friend.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and, for the first time, he felt nothing but sympathy for the man in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Stark said, sounding hoarse. “Me too. But the point is – I found out, confronted him and he killed me. When I woke up, though, I was able to contact some people and pull some data to prove what he had done. He’s in jail now, and he will be there for a long time.”

Steve nodded, slowly. “What happened to the company? After… After he tried to kill you?”

Stark’s eyes were penetrant, even as he made a flippant gesture with his hand. “A friend of mine took over as CEO. I still help with R&D, but I was never fit to be the head of a company in the first place. And even then…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you got this correctly, to be honest.”

Steve frowned. “Why?”

“You’re not listening to me.” Stark leaned in, his voice growing firmer. “You said he _tried_ to kill me. That’s not what I said. He _killed me_.” The way he said it gave Steve shivers. “I know he did. But when I woke up, I didn’t realize at first, what I had just come back from.” His head gave a sharp nod towards the Pomeranian. “Then, the following morning, after everything had apparently been sorted out, _he_ was there. In my bedroom. I thought I was seeing things”--he grimaced--“but then I started to remember.”

“You… Remember what?”

“A lot, actually,” Stark said. “I actually think I remembered it more then than I do now, because stuff keeps fading. Anyway, the point is—while I was… dead, I wasn’t just unconscious. I went somewhere. I… talked to some people – or, hell, some _beings_ , I don’t know – and I understood a few things.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Like?”

Stark exhaled slowly. “Like the fact that up until that point, the only good thing I ever did was changing the direction of the company. Aside from that, I had completely wasted my entire life.” His mouth twisted as if he had swallowed something bitter. “And I think – I mean, I can’t remember everything exactly, but I’m… I’m pretty sure a negotiation took place. Somehow. Wherever I was.”

“A… negotiation? What, like…” Steve’s voice trailed off, and the knowledge of a lifetime of watching horror movies with Bucky and Sam finally caught up to him. “Are you saying you sold your soul or something? To... to come back?”

“Geez, no, nothing _that_ dramatic.” Stark waved his hand dismissively. “But I think I did want a second chance, and I think I made a promise in exchange for it. Problem was – well, whoever the people upstairs are, their system seems a little flawed, because, since I was forgetting everything, whatever it was I promised was _also_ slipping my mind. Except for one thing.” He raised a finger and pointed directly at Steve. “You.”

“Me?”

“I didn’t know who you were,” Stark continued as if Steve hadn’t said anything. “All I knew was that there was a clear image of your face in my mind, like a picture. And you weren’t alone.”

Steve just stared at him, unable to form words. Stark turned his head towards the other end of the room, his eyes clearly chasing something.

Lola raised her head, returning Stark’s stare with her soulful eyes. She licked her nose.

“You’re saying,” Steve started, trying to maintain what felt like a final grip on his own sanity. “That you came back from the _afterlife_ and… Found yourself thinking of me and _my dog_?”

Stark gave him a satisfied nod. “Yup. So I started looking for you, and, of course, now I had company,” he gestured towards the tiny Pomeranian, who gave an excited yap as if he understood every word. “I think he’s meant to be, like—a spirit guide, maybe? Anyway, I started calling him Dummy and it just stuck.” He shrugged. “It was really stressful to be around him at first – no offense, but I’m more of a cat person – but soon I found out _someone_ ”--he gestured vaguely, Steve guessed, to whatever forces were in control of life and death--“had a system in place to keep me from being mean to their buddy. So, every time me and Dummy don’t see eye to eye…”

Steve blinked as understanding dawned on him. “You… turn into a Pomeranian?”

Stark opened his hands in a defeated acceptance. “Bingo.”

Steve took a moment to reflect. That was… a lot to take in, but, every time he felt himself feeling skeptical, he remembered the dog – Dummy, apparently – floating. “And you said you can’t do it on command?”

“No. Only when me and Dummy fight.” His lips curled into what seemed almost like a pout. “And, mind you, what counts as a _fight_ is literally anything that involves disagreeing with the little tyrant. I once turned for telling him he'd had enough treats.”

Dummy yapped as if to voice his complete agreement with that arrangement.

Steve smiled, and then, with a shock, realized he actually did believe Stark’s story. It made sense, in its own bizarre fashion, and it explained the disappearance of the other Pomeranian, as well as Stark’s dismissive behavior towards him. But he hadn’t gotten everything yet.

“So Dummy helped you find me,” he said, testing his ground. Stark nodded enthusiastically. “And you were… observing me for a while.” Stark nodded again, though this time with some amount of embarrassment. “But... why? Why did you need to find me—and, uh, I guess, Lola too?”

“Well.” Stark scratched his goatee. “How do I explain it?” His voice sounded casual, but hesitant. Steve got the feeling that Stark was very pleased by how well he had been taking everything so far, and whatever was going to be said next needed to be done delicately in order to keep things running smoothly. “Okay, first things first—fate is a lie,” he said bluntly. “The people upstairs – they can’t control what goes on down here, not really. But they can… well, _nudge_ it in some ways.” He shrugged. “Some of their tricks are better perceived than others. And making humans do the work, well—that’s always a hit.”

“I don’t…” Steve blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Again, they can’t _force_ humans to do anything,” Stark continued. “But they can give some of you the means to do what they want. So some humans are chosen to be… like, the manifestation of specific things that are supposed to be important. You’re blessed with special abilities to help guide humanity in a better direction. Uh, do you know Greek mythology? Like… Percy Jackson and stuff?” Steve stared at him, shocked at the abrupt change of direction, but he nodded. "Okay, so, uh, you must know—they had legendary heroes in the Greek myths, right?”

Steve nodded again.

“Great. And those heroes,” Stark paused, as if to choose his words carefully. “They were demigods. They weren’t normal human beings.” His eyes found Steve’s, brown and bright. “And neither are you. You, Steve Rogers, was chosen.”

“I,” Steve started saying, then cut himself abruptly, because the notion was too absurd to even say it. He tried again, “I’m… a demigod?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Stark said, but his voice sounded distant, as if he was talking underwater. Steve’s blood was roaring on his ears at the revelation, and he could barely hear him. “You’re more like, I don’t know, a flashlight or something.”

“If I’m a demigod,” Steve said. Part of him wanted to laugh at the entire thing and say Stark was probably pranking him, but a larger part of him believed the man, as ridiculous as everything sounded. “I’m a god of what?” At Stark’s gaze, he added: “You mentioned ‘special abilities’.”

Stark raised an eyebrow slowly. “What do you _think_?”

The second he said it, something seemed to lit up in Steve’s head, like a lamp. “I,” he started, unable to not sound disbelieving. “I’m a god of…”

He stopped, unable to finish the sentence, and Stark gestured enthusiastically to the room around them, where Monet was napping on the carpet, Anakin and Frodo were chasing each other in circles and Lola was still staring at them with a serious expression. Dummy yapped at him happily, then jumped and did a pirouette.

“…puppies?” Steve said, and had to repeat it. “I’m the god of puppies?”

“Again,” Stark said, but he was smiling now. “ _God_ is a huge stretch, don’t flatter yourself that much—but, essentially, yeah. That’s basically it.”

Steve stared ahead, unable to focus on anything. Dummy, apparently mistaking his shock with hesitation, lunged for him, jumping to his lap in a move that would have been impossible for a dog that size that didn’t regularly defy the laws of gravity. He stretched his tiny body to give Steve light licks on his chin.

“Is that seriously a surprise to you?” Stark asked. “I mean, you must have known something was off, right?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I… suppose so,” he admitted. “I always thought I had a way with dogs, and people talked about it, but I never thought it was something…”

“Supernatural?” Stark supplied. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Though honestly,” his lips curled in another smile that somehow seemed more reluctant, “it doesn’t take long with you to figure out something is up.”

For some reason, that made Steve’s cheeks warm a little. He hurried to change the subject. “Uh, you mentioned something like – guiding people. What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean you have to run for Congress, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Stark replied. “It’s nothing huge, really. You just need to do what you’re good at, and encourage others to do the same.” His eyes seemed to soften for a moment, and Steve noticed they had lighter traces of brown, looking almost honey in the faint light of his living room. “And I’ll help you.”

“I’m supposed to guide humanity to… be nicer to dogs?” Steve said, half joking, but, as soon as the words left his lips, he realized that actually sounded like a worthwhile goal. “That… that’s not bad, actually.”

“I was counting on you to say that.” Stark gave him a bright grin. “There’s a lot that we can do – that shelter you work on, for instance? Could use an expansion, and then there’s…”

“I--” Steve cut him off, then swallowed. “I think you’re right, and there’s a lot we need to talk about, but…” He sighed. Stark’s words sent shivers of excitement over him, but afterwards, the sheer exhaustion from everything else in that crazy day had replaced it. “But I think we should leave that to next morning.”

“That…” Stark assessed his tired state and smiled. “Okay, that’s fair.” He stood up. “I can come back in the morning.”

Dummy barked in protest at the suggestion, and Steve couldn’t blame him. “It’s still pouring outside,” he said. “You two can stay, it’s fine. You can have my bed.”

“Oh.” Stark stopped, suddenly seeming a little like a deer in headlights. He quickly composed himself, though, his hands going to his pockets. “Are you sure? I can take the couch, it’s not—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said. His head was still spinning, but now, staring at Stark and vaguely conscious that Dummy had started roaming across the room in what appeared to be a victory lap, he couldn’t help but smile. “Are you two hungry?”

* * *

Dinner was strangely comforting. Steve wasn’t really hungry, but Stark was clearly starving, and he devoured the leftovers from Sam’s pasta salad with enviable appetite. When he wasn’t talking and making plans, he was going at the plate like a champ, and Steve found himself grinning at him.

By the time they finished eating, Steve was already getting used to calling Stark “Tony.”

He stood up to grab some pillows to make a bed for himself on the couch. As he reached his closet, he heard Tony speaking, from the living room.

“Oh, come on,” he sounded frustrated, “get off. No—you’re _not_ sleeping with him, this is absolutely ridiculous, you can’t be that spoi—"

His words were cut off by a light popping noise, like a balloon.

 _Oh,_ was Steve’s only thought as he hurried back into the living room. Then, _Well, he wasn’t lying_.

There it was – the small, fluffy Pomeranian he had seen at the park, blinking wide brown eyes at Steve, his tongue hanging happily from his mouth. His tail wagged when he saw Steve, and he lunged for him, running to stand on his back paws and jump at him.

“Well, aren’t you cute?” Steve said, and then immediately stopped to wonder if Tony would remember those words when he got back to normal. There wasn’t much time for reflection, though, because he was pawing at Steve’s shirt, eyes in a plea that Steve knew too much about dogs not to understand. He picked the dog up, letting him nestle in his arms and rest his small head on his chest. “Hopefully this won’t be awkward later.”

He sat down on the couch to let Tony rest more comfortably. He figured he’d probably let him sleep there anyway, since he didn’t know when Tony would go back to his human form and how confused he would be then.

Steve moved awkwardly to place the pillow on the couch and pick up a blanket without knocking Tony off his lap. Dummy quickly appeared by their side, jumping on the couch and settling on the corner of Steve’s left thigh that wasn’t taken by Tony’s fur. He nested there as if it had always meant to be his spot.

Steve couldn’t help but grin. Still, he needed to lay down, and that required some more awkward maneuvering if he didn’t want to accidentally push the dogs off. He tried to shift as slowly as possible, but Tony immediately reacted when he started moving, his paws reaching up in an attempt to touch Steve’s face.

Steve lay down, and Tony quickly adjusted, walking to his chest and lying across it. He looked like a long, fluffy pillow, his fur making his shape seem especially round.

Dummy stayed firmly over Steve’s thigh. Steve reached over his head to turn the living room’s lamp off. Normally, he didn’t like to sleep on his back, but today he was already resigned to this fate.

As the lights went off, though, he felt a light, soft thing touching his feet. He laughed and squirmed as the ticklish sensation of what were undoubtedly Frodo’s licks climbed up his leg. Then, he felt Frodo’s weight as he climbed up the couch and settled on Steve’s Dummy-free leg.

Monet was next. He jumped up without any ceremony, rapidly climbing over Steve’s stomach and lying down, his belly up.

Finally, Anakin and Lola arrived. Lola settled on the empty space between Steve’s body and the couch, her face planted over Steve’s armpit; and Anakin found room closer to Steve’s head, resting his snout on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve felt his eyes going heavy at all the warmth and comfort of the small bodies covering him. He moved his hand slightly to scratch Tony’s ear and was rewarded with a soft, loving noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr.

He smiled as he closed his eyes. For all the shock Tony’s revelations had caused, now he felt strangely certain of the rightness of it all. Tony was meant to be here, Steve thought, they were meant to work together, and now, ready to drift off to nice, sunny dreams, Steve couldn’t help but believe everything would work out perfectly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, it'd mean the world if you took the time to leave a kudos and/or a comment. You can also [reblog the fic on tumblr](https://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/post/190670724870/lets-do-the-impawssible-nanasekei-marvel).


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